


John Doesn't Always Wear Jumpers.

by Haldane



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Humor, M/M, Military John, Military Uniforms, very slight m/m
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haldane/pseuds/Haldane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An official meeting causes John to put on his uniform for the first time since arriving in Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Doesn't Always Wear Jumpers.

"Right," John announced as he entered the sitting room, heading for the door. "I've got a review hearing with the pension board, no idea when I'll be back. Don't wait up." He paused to collect keys, wallet and phone before leaving.

Sherlock ignored him, attention fixed on the laptop screen where he was arranging various clip notes and linkages in an attempt to bring order to the chaos of his latest case. Only John's motion drew a reflexive flick of the eyes.

The eyes promptly abandoned the case notes and returned to John. The sight was so stunning that it actually took Sherlock three point five seconds to consciously determine the difference. For the first time, John was wearing his military uniform.

The most logical part of his mind, being the one most used, got into gear first. _Uniform's been stored folded, creases don't fit his body shape. He's the same weight as when it was issued; hasn't let himself go. I thought his posture was military before - I never saw the half of it._

Another part chimed in. _My God, he looks dangerous. No, competent. Dangerously competent. If Lestrade sees him like that, he'll close the shooting of the taxi driver on the spot._

A more basic, less vocal part agreed with the idea of keeping Lestrade away. And everybody else, for that matter.

The last remaining fragment of Sherlock's mind went _Gnnnnnnghhh_.

John reached for the door handle, and Sherlock's brain was still in fragments. He opened his mouth, intending to say something that would obviously be witty and encourage John to stay. However his body decided to have a say in things, and his legs launched him from the couch in the direction of the door. With his logical mind still arguing the point, he did a very poor job of judging speed and distance, landing heavily on the floor with his hands tangled in the edge of the rug.

John sighed and took a step out through the doorway. Still captivated by the sight of John in crisp military tailoring, Sherlock reverted to basic animal instinct and bit him in the back of the ankle.

"Ow!" John cried out and stopped, bending over to grab his ankle in one hand. _Strike while he's off balance_ suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea. Without stopping to ask which part of his mind was speaking, Sherlock kicked back against the floor with his toes, head butting John in the calves and bringing him to the floor.

"What!?" John said, surprised but not angry. Resigned, morelike. Sherlock rolled John over onto his back, hovering above his flatmate to appreciate what was so unexpectedly before him, mapping his shape with hands and eyes. He kept his gaze away from John's face, afraid of what he might see there.

He need not have worried. John reached out and took Sherlock's chin gently in his hand, lifting his face to stare solemnly at him. "I thought you were married to your work."

"My work doesn't understand me," Sherlock blurted helplessly. Once he started, the words poured out. "What's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this? Do you come here often?"

John placed a hand over Sherlock's mouth. "There is a problem with all those pick up lines," he said.

Sherlock wilted. "They're terrible?"

"No... You're just not giving me a chance to answer." John continued: "I'm not surprised; I live here; and not nearly often enough."

He gave Sherlock a moment to process his words, and when he saw comprehension dawn he reached up and seized his mouth in a bruising kiss.


End file.
